CD Review: The Wildhearts "Chutzpah!"

The Wildhearts are the sort of band that make you proud to be American. America, after all, invented rock and roll, dammit. You know that, I know that, and, most importantly of all, the Wildhearts know that.

Did I mention that the Wildhearts are British?

Because they're British, only about twelve people in America know about them. After thirteen albums (yes, thirteen), they remain the hard rock equivalent of Robbie Williams to us Yanks. Who's Robbie Williams, you ask? Ah, never mind.

If they'd been fortunate enough to be American, they could have simply gone to Europe to slowly build up a devoted cult following that would eventually translate to millions of albums sold in America, just like Metallica.

Also like Metallica, the Wildhearts have finally gotten around to recording their own "black album" - hey, just look at the album cover, yo. By marrying their balls-to-the-wall rock style to a monolithic no-holds-barred production, the Wildhearts have created an album as radio-ready and Camaro-friendly as anything Hetfield & Co. have come up with in twenty years.

"Plastic Jebus" is just one example of the many songs on this album that are seemingly tailor-made for rocking out to in jam-packed hockey rinks with shitty acoustics while your buddy Josh barfs up all the Pabst Blue Ribbon he chugged in the parking lot, along with some nachos he found in a dumpster, before the show.

But I digress...



The first time I heard the Wildhearts, a friend of mine immediately compared them to Queens Of The Stone Age, which I can totally see if your only exposure to hard rock is via Queens Of The Stone Age. Sure, they sound a little like QOTSA at times, but there are also elements of campy pomp a la the Darkness, but, for the most part, the Wildhearts are as serious as a fucking heart attack when it comes to blowing your hair back with their impenetrable fortress of rockitude.

Sure, "You Are Proof That Not All Women Are Insane" just has to be a fictional song about girls because, well, we all know that every last one of them is out of their fucking minds. We'll just chalk that one up to poetic license because the tune itself kicks the living shit out of anything Jimmy Eat World or Fall Out Boy have ever done and this is coming from someone who loved that last Jimmy Eat World record.

What I love most about Chutzpah! is that it has ten songs on it (okay, the Japanese version has fourteen). So what, you say? Look, it's common knowledge that all the best albums have ten songs on them. Okay, maybe not all of them, I do know that Sugar Ray and Fastball albums have like twenty songs on them and tend to suck. Okay, that Fastball album that had their monster hit "The Way" on it was decent, but it had like 500 goddamn songs on it and by the time I was done listening to every last one of them...oh, who am I kidding? I only ever listened to "The Way" until I got so fucking sick of it and sold it back to Moby Disk (god rest their retail soul) for $5.

But enough about me...

You know what's wrong with your life? You've let that good job and beautiful wife do a number on your head. Dude, the last concert you went to was Michael Fucking Buble. Yeah, yeah, it was for your wife's birthday. And you thought you could earn some bonus points by bringing her mo along. But the thing is, man, you lost your edge the minute you agreed to stand outside the ladies room holding two purses, Mr. Man.

What you need is a little redemption, my friend. For starters, go out and buy the new Wildhearts album. Play it loud and play it often. Oh yeah, also trade in that roller-skate-you-call-a-car Prius (her idea) for a gas-guzzling Chevelle in a lovely shade of primer. Then, just as your lady opens her mouth to complain, point her in the direction of the backseat and let her know that things are gonna be different from now on. Oh, and those acid-wash short shorts are for her. Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday.

Once behind the wheel, Heaven will be found at every red light as you pull up next to the cops and blow the "To Serve And Protect" sticker clean off the side of their car with a little dose of Chutzpah!. Then you and your lady can cruise out to Inspiration Point to watch the submarine races.

If you've managed to read this far, here's a link to a Chutzpah! outtake that the band just made available to fans today: Zeen Requiem